The plant knows how to bide its time.

Is it a conscious creature? Is it malevolence wrapped in leafy vines and red fruits? Or is it merely a part of nature, a reminder not to trust that which has no mind but only acts, just as a river is never a friend?

No one knows, for the plant does not talk. It does not reason. It does not attempt to explain itself. No, the plant merely bides its time, enticing would-be prey with sweet scents and idyllic leaves, appearing as a paradise in times of great hardship and darkness.

Were there scores of survivors, they might call the plant "the smiling killer", for its pods resemble a smiling face. Only, this is not the smile of an elated host, but the smile of the hungry man as he holds his meal in his hands.

Now approaches a meal. Three figures, two of which have plenty of meat. The last is more bone, but any meal is a good thing. They all have such dazed smiles on their faces. They are hungry, too. But only one will have its hunger sated today.

Now one of the furry things leans onto the pod, and now his muzzle touches the fruit of the plant. Ah, how the saliva drips from his mouth, and ah, how the saliva drips from the plant's mouth, too.

SNAP

It is time to feast.